


None Better

by Piscaria



Category: Long Live the Queen (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: "While he would not accept her suit, neither could he bring himself to openly refuse after all she had done for him. They entered into a state of romantic cease-fire . . ."Or, Ignatius finally allows himself to be persuaded.





	None Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricket_aria/gifts).



Until he met her, Ignatius assumed Princess Elodie imprisoned Julianna in deference to her father. For all of Julianna's many faults, she'd clearly played no part in Queen Fidelia's death. Yielding to her father’s suspicion was a forgivable enough trait in a daughter, but not in a monarch. Yet Princess Elodie did not look particularly timid or cowed as she listened to Ignatius’s request. 

"Fine then,” Princess Elodie said, wicked glee lighting her face. _You_ can be Duke of Ursul."

It felt like a knife through the gut. In shock, Ignatius heard himself speak. "On behalf of our people, I thank you for your wisdom." 

He left the palace in a daze. Ignatius had spent a decade longing to be Duke of Ursul. Yet now he felt vaguely sick. Had Julianna felt this conflicted when their father named her duchess while Ignatius stood by, trying desperately not to cry?

 _No_ , his inner voice answered him darkly. _It is not the same. Father cast you aside, but he didn't imprison you._

Instead, Ignatius had imprisoned himself by speaking his marriage vows. As he stepped into the carriage, he realized that, as Duke of Ursul, he no longer needed Corisande's influence. He could even divorce her if he chose. The Duchy of Ursul had been plagued with scandal since his father's days. A divorce would be mild in comparison. But then, he had to consider their children How would they react? He wouldn't be rash, Ignatius decided. He would try to work things out with Corisande. It was enough knowing that he had the choice.

As the carriage followed the cobblestone road leading from the palace grounds, Ignatius's eyes caught sight of a dark stone building in the distance. The palace dungeons. The sight was like a bucket of cold water pouring over him. He and Julianna had never been close, not since his father's decision, but she wasn't a criminal. She deserved better than to rot away in a prison cell. 

For a moment, Ignatius rose in his seat, one hand raised to knock against the carriage roof. He could visit Julianna's cell, tell her . . . what, exactly? That he was sorry to be named Duke of Ursul? They both knew that for a lie. That he'd sincerely expected the princess to release her? _Did you really?_ that same dark voice asked. _You hardly petitioned on your sister’s behalf._

Ignatius sank back into the carriage seat, flushed with shame. No wonder his father had passed over him. For all of her flaws, Julianna, at least, was honest. Straightforward. And Ignatius? At his heart, Ignatius was a practical man. He did what he had to do, whether it was to stay with a wife he'd caught in bed with her own brother, or to leave his sister to Elodie's dubious mercy. The carriage kept moving. 

As it rolled out of the palace gates, Ignatius vowed never to return, if he could help it.

Less than a year later, Ignatius returned to the palace, summoned by Princess — no, _Queen_ Elodie, whose regal presence revealed no trace of the impulsive girl he’d first met.

Ignatius felt a strange sense of deja vu as he bowed. “You wished to see me, Your Majesty?” 

“Please, sit down Your Grace. Would you care for some tea?”

Ignatius accepted the cup with a murmured thanks, closing his fingers around the warm china. 

Elodie smiled at him prettily. “Your Grace, now that things have settled, I have given some thought to ensuring the stability of my reign and the succession."

Ignatius nodded, sipping his tea to try to hide his confusion. Did she want advice? Even his own daughter never sought _that_ from him — when Briony deigned to speak with him at all after the divorce. Or was “stability” a barbed reference to Julianna’s escape? Did Elodie somehow blame him?

From a hidden pocket in her skirts, Elodie produced an embroidered pouch, sliding it across the table towards him. 

“Please accept this token of my esteem, Your Grace.” 

Ignatius gaped down at the pouch, wondering if the tiny stitches were the queen’s own work. She was known for her skill in Decoration.Four delicate roses had been pricked out in silk thread, their leafy vines cradling the arms of Ursul. The symbolism was obvious. Roses for love. Four for stability. Ursul’s sigil for . . . 

"You can't be serious!" Ignatius caught himself at once, rising from the chair and dropping to his knees in front of her. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty, I meant no insult."

She waved aside the breach in etiquette. "Clearly you have some misgivings. Please, share them with me.”

Ignatius looked up at her face for a hint of the cruelty she’d demonstrated in arresting Julianna. This must be some sick joke. But Elodie’s face was the picture of regal composure. Finally, he stammered, “Your Majesty, you are younger than my own daughter!“

“Many in Nova see my youth as a detriment,” Eldoie countered. “Surely it makes sense for my future husband to possess the experience and wisdom I lack.” 

It did, in fact, make a certain amount of sense. Yet . . . “Why me?” Ignatius demanded. “You must have better options.”

Elodie gazed down at him with an expression he’d never seen before. It was almost fond. “I have options, yes. Yet none better, I think.” 

To refuse the hand she offered then would have been the height of rudeness, so Ignatius allowed her to tug him back to his feet. 

“Your Majesty,” he started, frantically trying to sort his thoughts into words. He couldn’t refuse her outright, and in his shock, he’d already come dangerously close to unforgivable insult. “I’m flattered, naturally. But please . . . I’ve only just been divorced. I—“

“You need more time,” Elodie interrupted, with a mercy he wouldn’t have expected from her. She dimpled at him prettily. “Very well. As you say, I am still young. Take all the time you need.”

_Three Years Later_

The letter arrived in the queen’s own hand, an invitation for Ignatius to join her on an expedition to the ancient palace. He tapped the parchment thoughtfully as he considered his reply. After the kiss she’d stolen at last year’s winter ball, he’d made it clear that he would only spend time with her if she refrained from acting indecently. 

Ignatius tried not to dwell on the memory of her hot and eager mouth, the feeling of her firm breasts pressed against his chest.

Four days at an abandoned palace was pushing the bonds of propriety, but Elodie’s letter promised a chaperone. And Ignatius was lonely. He could admit that to himself, at least. Divorcing Corisande had been worth it, but the price had been high. Ignatius rarely saw his children, and his few friends had believed Corisande’s lies. Truthfully, Ignatius had come to look forward to the time he spent with Elodie. He would miss her when she inevitably came to her senses and chose a more appropriate companion.

Making up his mind, he responded to her invitation in the affirmative.

The next week, he arrived at the palace to find it bustling with preparations for the queen’s sojourn into the previously forbidden forest. Half of the palace guards, it seems, were to accompany them on the journey. 

“You should have said chaperones, plural,” Ignatius laughed as he kissed Elodie’s hand.

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, I didn’t mean the guards.”

As if on cue, a new voice spoke from the doorway. “Daddy?”

Startled, Ignatius turned to find Briony in the doorway, gaping at them. He dropped Elodie’s hand as if it burned. 

Elodie only laughed, opening her arms. “Briony! I’m so happy you could join us.” 

Ignatius watched in amazement as the two girls — women, really — embraced. Of course, he realized numbly. They had gone to school together. When Briony had run away, just before the divorce, she’d taken refuge in the palace, with Elodie. He just hadn’t realized before now that the two of them were friends.

Pulling away from Elodie, Briony frowned, glancing from her, to Ignatius, and back again. “Seriously?” she asked. 

Ignatius opened his mouth, wanting to explain . . . what exactly? That this wasn’t what it looked like? His daughter wasn’t stupid, and Ignatius knew full well that rumors of Elodie’s courtship had spread even to the far reaches of Nova. That Elodie’s attentions were entirely one-sided? _Are they really?_ that dark voice asked in his mind. _You certainly enjoyed her kiss._ Besides, he could hardly insult Elodie.

“I . . . I can leave,” Ignatius stammered. 

In response, Elodie’s hand curled around his elbow. “No,” she said, with a steely voice that harkened back to Queen Fidelia. “You’re here as my guest.”

Briony gave a put-upon sigh, but when she met Ignatius’s gaze, she looked almost apologetic. “It’s _fine_. But if you two are going to be disgusting, don’t do it in front of me!” 

Indeed, the next few days were as proper as Ignatius could ever have hoped. He sat beside Briony on the carriage ride, letting his daughter’s ramblings about the old palace wash over him. Elodie sat calmly in the seat across from them, occasionally mentioning her own research. He had not realized she was so well read.

He didn’t catch Elodie alone until their third morning, waking early to find her already sipping tea on a balcony overlooking the thorny remnants of what must have once been a rose garden. 

“You should have warned me.”

She smiled, almost wistful. “I should have. But would you have agreed to join us if I had?”

“Of course not!” 

Elodie only nodded, as if he’d proved her point. “Briony would never have forgiven me if I’d visited the abandoned palace without her,” Elodie said. “Besides, she needs to get used to it. You both do. She’s my friend, and you’re . . .” She trailed off, a look of momentary uncertainty in her eyes. 

Ignatius knew, suddenly, that this was his chance. He could make a polite and distancing comment, and she would break off the courtship gracefully. The right turn of phrase was ready on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he found himself asking, “Why me?” 

He could almost see Elodie gathering her thoughts as she sipped her tea. When she finally spoke, her voice was thoughtful. “During that first audience, you spoke only of Ursul’s needs. You didn’t try to sway me in my decision, even though you had a lot to gain. Even though I was behaving terribly. You were gracious when I gave you the duchy, of course, but I had the strangest feeling you would have been gracious either way.” 

“Julianna had nothing to do with Queen Fidelia’s death.” Saying the words felt like releasing a weight from his chest. 

Elodie looked down at her teacup. “I know,” she admitted. “I think I knew it even then.” She swallowed, then gave a little nod, as though she were making up her mind. “When we return, I’ll pardon her, for all of the good it will do.”

“It will do a lot,” Ignatius said at once. Wherever she was, at least Julianna would no longer have to live as an exile.

“I’ve made mistakes,” Elodie said, still looking down at her teacup. She sounded young, uncertain, as she hadn’t since taking the crown. “With your sister . . . and with you too, perhaps. I understand if you don’t —” 

“Elodie, you saved the country with the power of music!” She stared at him, wide-eyed, though whether from the words themselves or his use of her given name, Ignatius couldn’t say. Maybe it was the promise of adventure beckoning from the dark forest beyond the tangled rose garden, or maybe it was just the aching uncertainty in her face. Whatever the reason, Ignatius forged ahead, reckless. “You turned a near certain defeat from a foreign invader into victory they’ll be singing about for generations — and you did it without bloodshed! Whatever mistakes you’ve made, there is still no one who would make a better queen . . . or a better wife. If you’ll still have me.”

Tears sparkled in her blue eyes and she surged forward, throwing her arms around his neck. This time, Ignatius didn’t pull away. 

The End


End file.
